


Monochrome Kiss

by TheCookieOfDoom



Series: Soulmate AUs [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 02:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10561894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: 1. You only see color once you meet your soulmate.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My own take on this prompt where you only see color when you begin to get close to your soulmate, not just immediately when you meet them. So basically you have to build the bond up, and it wasn't intentional, but this ends up implying that you don't see the full spectrum until you have sex with your soulmate. (Guess that makes sense though for my version of it?)

All of Jon’s life had been devoid of color. The snow around hima powdery white, his skin a grey that wasn’t much darker. His hair the color of night, and his eyes only a few shades lighter. He grew up hearing people talking about see color. Brilliant red that looked the way apples tasted. The sky a shade of blue that looked the way it felt to swim in the summer. Yellow that looked the way the sun felt on your skin, warming and melting away the cold in your bones. He knew all the ways colors could be described as feelings, as senses. But he’d never  _ seen  _ any of them. He didn’t know the way they looked together. All he knew was shades of gray. And that sometimes Lady Catelyn would chastise him because “no, you can’t possibly wear that, the colors look garish together.” He didn’t understand, they looked just the same to him. But never-the-less, he did as he was told and changed. Soon his wardrobe consisted of nothing but what he was told was black and brown. 

The first time he saw color was when he was just nine years old. It was a muted color, faded. But it was not white or gray or black. It was a flower, a soft powder yellow. The flowers of a daffodil peaking through the snow, the first sign of summer. He looked up at the sky, and could see the yellow of the sun peaking through the clouds. Giddy, he ran to find his father, speaking excitedly about how he could finally see this “yellow”. His older brother, Robb, was already there. He was speaking excitedly about how he could see the color of the grass and the trees and bushes and it was so  _ pretty _ . Timidly, Jon spoke up about the flower he had seen. Robb was, if it was even possible, even more excited knowing that Jon was beginning to see them too. Lady Catelyn, however, simply accused him of just trying to copy Robb, said that he didn’t really see it. 

If he had been older, perhaps he would have seen the worried look she passed to Lord Stark before sending him away. 

The next time he saw color was when he was of thirteen years. It was summer, and it was a rare time when there were no snows in Winterfell. He had run off with Robb into the godswood so that they could swim in the pond, enjoying the day to its fullest. Who knows when there would be another one like this. They were splashing each other in the water, naked as the day they were born, when Jon saw it. 

“Your hair is so pretty,” he said, his eyes wide. He grabbed at Robb to make him stop moving, hands on either side of his face to hold him still. It was dark, especially because it was sopping wet, but it was a brilliant color. Reflecting the sunlight with gold and some strange shade that Jon didn’t have a word for. 

“Mother says it’s called ‘red’. Like blood.” Blood, that was a good word for it. Jon pet at his hair, thinking it looked the way the metal tang of blood in his mouth when he bit his tongue tasted. Another splash of color caught Jon’s eye. Looking over Robb’s shoulder, he saw the heartwood. It leaves were a color like Robb’s hair, bright red. 

“It looks like the leaves of the heartwood,” he said in awe, smiling. There was a light breeze, enough to send leaves falling into the pond. When one drifted close enough, Jon picked it up, hald it up to Robb’s hair. He thought red was his favorite color. 

Later that day, when they returned home, Robb dragged him straight to Lady Catelyn to tell her the news. “It’s the same color as your hair, my lady,” Jon said, looking between them. It was a very pretty color, but on Lady Catelyn in was harsh. A sharp red that made him think of the pain when he bit his tongue, not the warm taste of copper. Maybe red wasn’t his favorite color. 

He did not see how her expression became strained, how her worry grew. 

The next time Jon saw color, he was sixteen. Lady Stark’s animosity towards him had grown, and she had done her best to prevent him from seeing Robb under the pretense that he would be a bad influence on the heir of Winterfell. Robb was better off in the company of other lord’s sons, like Theon. Jon didn’t believe that one bit, he was much better company that Theon was. Theon would get Robb into trouble, tarnish his reputation, whereas Jon would never think of doing anything of the sort. 

Catelyn was the reason Jon found himself lead away in the night by Robb, into the godswood. It had become their sanctuary over the years. The one place no one would disturb them. It was rare that Cately would venture into the woods; she felt unwelcome by the gods who were not her own, despite Lord Stark assuring her otherwise. Jon agreed with her; she was not wanted here. She was not of the north, and therefore she didn’t belong here. 

“I think you are favored by the gods,” he said as they, like so many times before, shed their clothes to wade into the pond. Immediately, he felt like an idiot for saying so. Robb’s brilliant smile hadn’t helped. 

“What gives you that idea?” 

“You hair is the color of their trees. Surely that must have some significance.” 

“My, Jon, have you turned into a poet? What next, will you be singing at feasts with the minstrels?” 

“Piss off, Robb,” he said, shoving him into the pond. Robb laughed, grabbing at Jon’s wrists to pull him in too. 

“You look like a mop,” Robb said, grinning, when Jon came out from under the water, his hair wet and stringy and covering most of his face. Jon slicked his hair back so that he could see, and to make sure that Robb could see him rolling his eyes. 

“Really? Childish insults are the best the future lord of Winterfell can do?” 

“No. But it’s the most I want to do.” His grin softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to grasp Jon’s wrists, pulling him closer. Jon smiled back, allowing himself to be pulled until the space between them was miniscule. 

“I’ve always wondered what color you hair is, you know,” he said, running his fingers through Jon’s hair and carefully working out a few of the tangles. There was no hope for his curls, really, they would not be tamed. “If it’s black, or a dark brown, or a really dark red like mine.”

“I don’t. I think it’s just plain, boring black.” That’s what lady Catelyn always said. But Robb shook his head, giving a lock of his hair a gentle tug before tilting his head to see how the sun reflected on the dark strands. 

“It’s not boring at all. I think it’s nice, like the night sky. And when snow lands in it, it looks like stars.” The way Robb described did sound much better that the way Catelyn did. She said his hair was the color of tar, a sticky, inky black. 

“Well, maybe it doesn’t sound as boring when you say it like that.” Robb huffed a soft laugh, like a fond sigh, and ran his free hand through Jon’s hair as well, just playing with it. Jon did the same, one hand on Robb’s shoulder the other playing in his hair. Ever since he first saw the color, he’d loved touching it. The curls were soft under his fingers, and didn’t tangle as bad as his. 

“What,” Robb asked when he saw Jon’s smile. 

“I was just thinking that at the very least, your hair must be touched by the gods.” 

“Why, because it’s red?” 

“No, because it never tangles. It’s so curly, you would think it would be like a nest by the end of the day, but it never is.” 

“You’re right, I must be the gods’ favorite person in Westeros,” Robb said so seriously that Jon knew he was teasing him. 

“Shut up.” 

“No, no, I think you may really have a point here. I mean, not only is my hair  _ red _ , but it  _ never  _ get’s tangled. Maybe I am even one of the old gods incarnate.” 

“Alright, I’m done talking to you.” Jon went to pull away, biting back a smile, but Robb refused to let him, laughing as he held Jon close. 

“No, I’m sorry.” 

“You are a fool is what you are.” 

“Yes, perhaps, but I will always be a fool for those I love if it means I can see them smile.” He looked at Jon with a hopeful smile, petting at his sides until he finally gave in and smiled. 

“You’re more annoying than Arya, you know.” 

“I know.” 

Sighing, as if it was some great effort on his part, Jon lifted his arms to wrap around Robb’s neck, and they were finally pressed chest to chest, no space left between them. Jon knew boys weren’t supposed to touch like this, not for this long, not this unclothed. He knew he should feel uncomfortable, and push Robb away from him. Get out of the pool and dress and leave. But he’d always felt comfortable in Robb’s arms; it was the one place that felt like home and belonging. 

They stayed that way for a long time; embracing, heads resting on each others shoulders, simply being. Jon playing with Robb’s hair, Robb running his fingertips in over Jon’s skin in a way that tickled and gave him chills. It made him sigh and nuzzle at Robb’s neck, rather than giggle and try to squirm away. 

“Jon?” Robb said softly, his warm breath ghosting over Jon’s skin. Jon hummed questioningly, eyes closed as he enjoyed Robb’s touch. Robb reached up to pull at his hair, though, until Jon pulled back enough to look at him. “Can I kiss you?” he asked. Jon stared at him for a few long moments, before nodding. 

The kiss was timid, light like a butterfly’s wings against his lips. He could feel a slight tremble in Robb’s hand where it rested on the back of his neck, and it warmed his heart to the other. If he had to give it a color, he would say it was pink. Light and gentle, nothing like the passion of fiery red. Jon couldn’t say how long it was before the kiss finally had to end, his lungs burning. Robb’s cheeks were a delightful red when he pulled away, and he smiled, reaching up to touch his face. Robb leaned into his touch, smiling back. 

“That was…” 

“Yeah.” 

“Can we do it again?” 

Jon leaned in to kiss him again in answer, soft like before. Until before long, Robb’s tongue teased at the seam of his lips until he parted them, and if their first kiss was soft pink, this one was the passionate blood red of Robb’s hair, with teeth and tongues and kiss-swollen lips and it was clumsy but Jon wouldn’t rather be anywhere than right here. And yes, red was definitely his favorite color. He couldn’t get enough of Robb’s taste, like sugared rose petals they had snuck into the kitchens for earlier, before coming here. This kiss lasted longer, neither of them willing willing to part from the other longer than the few seconds it took to breathe in a few gulps of air so that they could continue. But it did have to come to an end eventually, both panting and looking at each other with something akin to adoration in their eyes. 

“Your eyes--” Jon started, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He couldn’t say what color they were, and he looked around desperately to find something similar. When he looked through the leaves of the heartwood, he knew what it was. “They’re blue.”

Robb smiled at him, bright, dragging his thumb across Jon’s bottom lip. Jon nipped at him, and licked at the pad of his thumb with his velvet-soft tongue. “Your lips are pink,” he said. “And soft. Like rose petals.” 

Jon kissed him again, a soft peck on the lips. And again, and again, until the first light was beginning to peak over the eastern horizon. By then their kisses were lazy and slow, and anywhere but their lips. They were sitting side by side in the shallower part of the pool, trying to stay awake. Jon pressed a kiss to Robb’s shoulder as they watched the sun’s light chase away the night, and Robb returned it to one against his temple. He couldn’t help thinking that the light looked like Robb’s hair, smears of red and gold and orange over the sky, chasing away the black of night. He couldn’t help thinking that one day, that would be them. 

Yawning, they finally got out of the water, and were immediately struck by the brisk air of morning. The pool was warmed, like a hot spring, it let them forget just how cold the north really was. They dressed quickly and returned to Winterfell, sneaking past tired guards and into the keep, back to their rooms to pretend as if that night hadn’t happened and that they had simply slept. Jon thought he could still feel his lips tingling from Robb’s kiss. 

In the morning, Robb told Catelyn he could see a new color, pink, and that Jon could see blue now. Said that his eyes were blue. Jon wilted at the look he received from her when she heard that, looking down and withdrawing into himself as if trying to appear as small as possible. He knew that even if he were the size of an insect, however, he wouldn’t escape her scrutiny. 

“Is this true, Jon? You can see blue now?” she asked. Her tone dared him to deny it, and he wanted to. He was no fool, he knew what it meant that he could see the red and gold in Robb’s hair, the blue in his eyes. He knew what it meant that the more time they spent together, the closer they became, the more color they could see. 

“Yes, my lady.” He could see the tightening of her jaw, and the cruel glare cast to him turned to worry as she looked to Robb, and anger as she finally turned her attention to Ned. Robb noticed as well, and Jon watched as the tones of red in his pale face bled away, leaving him pale. 

Jon was no fool. He knew what it meant when Benjen came to talk to him the next fortnight. 

“Do you really have to go to the wall?” Robb asked several months later. He’d finally found out. 

“Do you really think your mother will let me stay?” he asked, brushing Robb’s hair out of his eyes. This wasn’t how he’d thought to spend the night when Robb snuck into his room and woke him with sweet kisses. 

“Who cares about that. When I’m the lord, it won’t matter, she won’t be able to send you away.” 

“You’re not the lord of Winterfell, not yet. You can’t keep me here.” 

“I don’t want to lose you.” Jon’s heart cracked like ice when he heard Robb’s voice break, and saw the tears gathering in his eyes. 

“I’m not leaving yet,” he said, and it sounded hollow to his own ears. He knew it was a cold comfort, and that he would be leaving  _ soon _ , even if not now. Too soon. When he felt the first 

splash against his cheek, his own eyes soon brimmed with tears. Propped himself up on his elbow, wrapping his other arm around Robb to hold him close. Robb held onto his desperately, and Jon carefully rolled them over so that he was on top, slotted neatly between Robb’s legs. Robb wrapped his legs around Jon’s waist, arms around his neck, and held onto him for all he was worth even as he tried to hold back the tears soaking his cheeks. 

“I love you,” he said, over and over, his face buried against Jon’s neck. “I won’t let you leave. I won’t let them take you from me.” I was a sweet thought, and Jon wished either of them had a say in this. But they didn’t. All he could do was wrap his arms around Robb and hold him close, try to kiss away the hurt. This time, Robb didn’t try to sneak away when the sun began to rise. That morning, the sun’s first rays found them still together, wrapped up in furs and each other’s arms, sleeping soundly. 

Jon was no fool. He knew what it meant for them when Lady Stark found them that way in the morning, after finding Robb’s bed empty. He knew that he would never see more than shades of yellow and red and blue when Benjen came a fortnight later. 

That final morning, Robb walked with Jon to say his farewell. Both of them could feel Catelyn’s eyes boring into them, waiting impatiently for Jon to finally leave. They had spent their final night together in silence. There was nothing left to say. They kissed, they cried, sometimes as the same time. They stayed awake for as long as they could, but they were so exhausted after so much crying that they fell asleep long before the sun rose. If either of them had red eyes in the morning, neither Catelyn or Ned mentioned it. 

“Next time I see you, you’ll be all in black,” Robb said with his usual bright grin. It was watery, this time, and Jon could only smile weakly back. 

“It was always my color.” Black and white and everything in between. 

Robb pulled him forward into a hug, embraced him just a little too tight, and Jon could feel that Robb didn’t want to let him go. But he managed to pull himself away, his jaw tight and teeth grit together. They said their farewells and Robb left him without looking back; it would have hurt too much. 

Jon rode out of Winterfell with his uncle, waited until they were miles away before taking out the piece of parchment Robb had slipped him when they’d embraced for the last time.  _ I’ll look to find you in the night sky. I hope you’ll remember me on the sunrise.  _ Short, simple, and splotched with tears by the third time Jon read it over. He couldn’t help but think of the first night they’d spent kissing until their lips were sore, and how he’d thought that one day they would reflect the horizon. He should have known that the prophecy would come true, but that it would be Catelyn pushing him away, not Robb. He was sure he looked like a fool, and felt more so like one when Benjen looked at him with worry. He didn’t know how much Benjen knew about the situation, the real reason Jon was coming with him. Maybe nothing. And if that was the case, Jon didn’t want to risk him finding out, so he rolled up the slip of parchment and hid it in his shirt, rubbed away his tears, and did his best to compose himself. 

The last time Jon saw color was some years later. He had heard few things about Robb since he’d left, but one of those things had been that he’d been declared the King in the North. The Night’s Watch were sworn to follow no kings, but Jon knew that Robb was a king he could follow. He would be a good king, and lead his people well. 

Then, one night, Jon noticed that the fire was white. Not red or orange or yellow. There was no longer any warmth to the room. His heart clenched. 

Sam came running not long after with a scroll. A raven had come, he’d said. It was about his brother. Same found Jon sitting in front of the fire, a knife in one hand and blood dripping down the other, pooling in the floor like black ink. 

“I know,” Jon said.

He was no fool, he knew what it meant when the color bled from his vision. 

**Author's Note:**

> I just read the end and no, Jon didn't cut his wrists! He cut his palm to see if he could still see that his blood was red. I would rewrite that but I have a job interview in like an hour and I need to get ready so I don't have time. 
> 
> Also, if anyone gets the reference in the title, yes I am trash xD but it fits!


End file.
